Mother's Day is Another Day

When Roxie was alive, Mother’s Day wasn’t much different from any other day. We treated each day as a celebration and tried never to take any moment for granted, which wasn’t a difficult task. We adored our daughter. She was happy, inquisitive, quirky, compassionate and downright fun. Roxie loved life, and we loved the adventure each day presented, exploring the world, experiencing joy and wonder through her stunning blue eyes.

Motherhood completed my identity and purpose. I treasured the unconditional love Roxie & I had for one another. I was so proud to be her mother. She was the beacon for my future.

We nurtured a tiny baby into a blossoming beautiful, independent, complex child. We trusted others with her care who did not deserve our trust, who failed Roxie, and in an instant, our lives as we knew them ended.

Mother’s Day without Roxie wasn’t different from any other day. I opened my eyes in the morning, and I thought of her. Every cell in my body ached to hold her sweet little fingers and kiss her forehead. I slogged through the function of living and confronted the exhausting effort to be “normal.” Doug struggled with not knowing what to do—whether it would hurt me or help me.

We are forever impotent, not knowing how to make this better for each other. We are constantly guarded, wary of intensifying the emptiness and heartache of Roxie’s absence.

Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, Halloween, New Year’s and Roxie’s very own birthday will come. All of them will be moments when we must wrestle with our new purpose in the midst of our infinite pain.

I will hold on to the 6 ½ years I had with Roxie to guide me through this new normal. It’s the best I can do.